The Nietzschean
by B.L.A. the Mouse
Summary: Tyr broods.


Summary: Tyr broods. 

Codes: Harper/Tyr

Disclaimer: Tribune owns all rights to _Andromeda_. I just borrowed it for use in my twisted little tale.

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: "If The Wheel Is Fixed"

Setting: Right after the Season Three premier.

Feedback: Please! I love praise and constructive criticism, but flames will be used to light incense.

Archive: Ask first and I'll probably say yes.

Author's Note: After writing "Of An Evening", I thought I may as well even the score and give the guys a chance. I probably should have made the two have an equal rating, if I wanted to be fair, but eh, it'll probably even out eventually. 

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The Nietzschean

By B.L.A. the Mouse

Tyr stared out into space from the window of Obs. deck. He'd come here every night for the past week, when sleep proved impossible to obtain. His time now consisted of duty, exercise, and hours upon hours of silent contemplation. 

There was much to contemplate. At some point he'd lost his boneblades. Those boneblades were the defining factor of a Nietzschean male; without them, without even scars to mark where they had been, he was almost human, entirely human physically. 

He had removed the guards reluctantly, they being the final link with the natural weaponry he had once possessed. It was funny, how the simple act of taking them off had made him feel unmanned and less than he knew himself to be. 

He knew himself to be a Nietzschean, yet he appeared human. He knew himself to be the father of Drago Museveni's reincarnation, yet that claim would now be in jeopardy. He knew himself to be an Alpha male, yet what female would have him now?

They- the Nietzschean people, the race he had hoped to reunite- would think him no better or more worthy than any _Homo sapiens _picked off a drift at random. Only nonengineered species, the Humans and Perseids and Inarans of the universe, would accept him now, and even they would look askance at the Nietzschean-who-was-not. 

He was deep into this much-worn thought track when the door to Obs. deck slid open behind him. His ears caught the whirr and brought him to full alertness. Still he stared, trying mightily to give the impression that he was distracted.

"Aw, give it up, Tyr. I know that you know I'm here."

Apparently, he couldn't fool Harper. Tyr smelled the distinct odor that personified the engineer, a mixture of sugar, sweat, hair gel, and engine grease, first as he stood beside him, then as the boy laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. "What's up? Besides us, of course."

"Why are you awake, boy?" Tyr growled, hoping to drive the other man away. It was easier to do that than to confide in another person, easier to be alone than talk about his fears. 

He'd once spoken to Beka about those fears, read to her from Nietzsche about those most midnight, most midday fears. She would be the most logical person to speak to. She had, after all, been through many of the same things he had, may even have mated with him. But no, she already had confidantes in Rommie and Trance. He had none. 

Harper shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. Too many thoughts running through my poor head, like I didn't have enough to worry about what with fixing the ship. Why are you up?"

Tyr stayed silent. To speak would be to reveal his own thoughts and fears. Those sentiments would denote weakness, and one of the things he had learned from a very young age was not to display weakness, especially to a female or an inferior species. While Harper was not female and humans were not exactly inferior in his experience, conditioning still overrode the impulse.

His lack of speech didn't rebuff the other man. "I'm thinking that you're not going to tell me, the whole stony silence thing and all is kind of a tip-off." He could feel Harper settling in to wait next to him, noticing the tiredness that would explain the lack of usual flamboyant turns of phrase. "So I'll just wait here in case you want to talk."

They sat for quite a while, not a word exchanged between them. It was surprising, given that he was with Harper, but not uncomfortable. That is, until Harper spoke.

His tone was quiet, as experimental as his hand had been earlier. "So do you know what happened to your boneblades?"

"No." He was grudging to admit as much. 

"You took off those armband thingies."

"Yes."

"Why?" The boy was curious, and the open-forum air of the room tonight gave him tacit leave to ask what he otherwise would not. 

"They served no further purpose."

"What was their purpose?"

"To brace the blades," Tyr stated quietly, surprisingly feeling unaffected by the questioning. "To protect the skin."

"So it's kinda like armoring a cactus?" Harper caught his inquisitive look. "Ya know, the spikes, the vulnerable skin… never mind." He paused for a moment, before asking, "So does it hurt?"

"No."

"Not even if I do this?" Harper pressed a light finger to where a boneblade used to be. 

Tyr shuddered. It didn't do anything as prosaic as hurt, oh no. Instead, the sensations it sent rocketing up through his arm were disquieting in the pleasantness of them. "No," he managed, through the surprise and unexpected thrill. "It doesn't hurt."

"Tyr? Did I just do something I shouldn't have?"

He heard the incipient guilt in Harper's voice, then realized that he was feeling remorse for causing it. Even as he cursed himself, he reassured the human that he hadn't made a horrible faux pas in the attempt to assuage his curiosity. 

"Then why'd you flinch?" Harper had drawn away, but remained close enough that Tyr could feel his body heat, now that he was aware of it. 

He considered his next words very carefully. "The skin on a Nietzschean's forearm is extremely sensitive. It can be a disadvantage in battle, hence the arm guards, but it can also be used an erogenous zone during mating." He gave Harper a chance to absorb the information. "While I may not have boneblades anymore, that area apparently remains… very responsive to touch."

"Ah." He thought that was the end of it, but then Harper asked, "Do you mind if I do it again?"

Tyr smiled at that, the first genuine smile in days, and told him, "Go ahead." He could use the comfort of physical contact, even if the possibility Harper was offering never came to anything. 

A prolonged sweep of fingers down his arm, and Tyr gritted his teeth as this second touch had an effect. The third one had an even more drastic result. Now, instead of adhering to a straight line, Harper's fingers made little forays over the underside of the forearm. As Harper reached forward again, Tyr caught his hand.

The human frowned. "Something wrong?"

"Just that if you wish to continue with this… activity… it might be advisable to move to a more private location."

It took Harper longer than he expected to get it, a whole two seconds in fact. His response was to smile, belying a jump in his own vital signs, and slide a hand elsewhere. 

The Nietzschean jumped at the contact, and it was a strain to say anything more complex than, "I told you…"

Harper's smile became a downright grin. "I know. So let's go. Your quarters or mine?"

Tyr got to his feet and began towing the other man off of Obs. deck, all in one quick movement. 

It may not have been a very Nietzschean thing to do, but given a choice between isolation and temporary, frowned-upon acceptance with a human male, he chose the latter. He had never been a normal Nietzschean, after all, and the newest developments just exacerbated that.

****

The End


End file.
